Desire in the Everglades

by Hoff, Stacy

  “I’m all right. Thanks to you. I’m sorry. I screwed everything up, I know.”

  “It’s not your fault. I’m not mad at you.”

  Good to hear, but that meant they really were up the proverbial creek. She was almost relieved to see him look angry. Assuming his slit eyes and deep frown were any indications. She felt a flush of embarrassment bloom on her cheeks and quickly looked down, drawing shapes on the floor again. “You are mad at me,” she said quietly.

  “I’m not,” he reassured, his severe expression softening. “I’m angry over the situation. I don’t like you being out here in a storm. I wanted to have you here with me tonight, but not this way.”

  She let out a laugh despite her jitters. “I know you planned this storm on purpose. Admit it.”

  “I admit nothing,” he said, smiling back, but then sobered. “Um, Stephanie, you might want to take some of your clothing off so you can dry up. Otherwise it’s going to be a long, wet night.”

  Ignoring the clothing issue, Stephanie’s mind raced to what was more important.

  “Dry off? In this monsoon?”

  “Not a monsoon. Down here we have tropical cyclones. But I hope to hell we’re not in one.”

  Stephanie crouched down further into the back of the lean-to. The structure wasn’t too high, or too deep, but it did give shelter from the downpour. Colin got up to kneel at the open end, removing a pile of kindling from his backpack.

  “Do you always keep twigs in your book bag?” Stephanie asked, eyes wide.

  “We’re not in New York anymore, so it’s called a backpack, not a book bag. And no, I don’t. I grabbed these from the pile next to the campfire when it started raining. That way, if the airboats boats couldn’t make it here, I’d be able to make another fire.”

  Wow, Stephanie thought. With fast survival calculations like that, maybe they would survive this storm. Assuming they did survive, he would definitely win the million dollars. Assuming they didn’t survive, her mother would collect on Teleworld’s million-dollar life insurance policy she made the company take out on her. She had pushed Mark for the insurance coverage the moment she told him she was going to the Everglades. He didn’t object. Rather, he embraced her enthusiasm for the show. Mark was right in one way at least—it paid to be pushy.

  “I’ve got to be honest, Colin. I’m impressed how you thought ahead under these circumstances. And so quickly. Are you always so prepared?”

  “No. ‘Prepared’ would have meant I grabbed Tom’s vodka bottle, too.”

  If she were in a better mood, she’d have laughed. Instead she watched him pile the twigs in front of them, placing them at the outer edge of the lean-to. If he had any doubts about being able to start a fire in the rain, he didn’t show it. Unfortunately, she had doubts aplenty. Only Vulcan, Roman god of fire, could manage to make some puny twigs burn during a heavy rainstorm like this.

  Maybe Colin was a god. And she was the sacrificial lamb. At least she felt like one, left out here by the location crew and boat captains, presumably to die. “Why did the boats take off without us?” she asked, a sudden harsh edge to her voice. “Don’t they care they abandoned us?”

  He answered calmly. “Of course they care. Your co-workers obviously like you. As for the boats, safety is the captain’s biggest concern. That’s why they took off. They didn’t want to risk everybody getting hurt. They had no idea what happened to us, and waiting for us would put everyone in jeopardy.” He rummaged around in his backpack until he suddenly held out a travel-sized jar of Vaseline, smiling in victory. “Voila!”

  She felt her face scrunch into a large frown. Dumbstruck, she watched him smear a dollop of the clear sticky grease onto the twigs. “If you don’t mind my asking, Colin, is your biggest concern right now whether the twigs have chapped lips?”

  He waved her facetious question away without looking up. Then reached for his lighter and—swoosh—the tinder caught flame, shooting up a foot high.

  Holy shit. This guy is Vulcan.

  “Vaseline?” he offered, extending the jar out to her.

  “Er, no. Thanks.”

  “Well then, we’ll save it for later. Great stuff to get a fire burning. Great for treating burns and cuts, too. I think the trees are giving us enough of a canopy for the fire to hold. Let’s hope so,” he said.

  “Thanks for the fire. This will help a lot.” She held her hands up to it and felt the dry heat spread gloriously through her. With the sun setting, and the storm’s bursting, the temperature had dropped. “What else can you use to make a fire? I wouldn’t have thought of Vaseline.”

  “You’d be surprised. I can rub two sticks together, of course. But I’ll use anything available, from broken glass to tampons.”

  “What?”

  “Yep. Found out that little tidbit when I had to camp out in Afghanistan’s mountains with a female U.S. Army officer. Long story. Anyway, you have to puff out the tampon a little, but it works surprisingly well.

  “O-kaay.”

  He laughed. “Hey, you asked. The point is, when you’re in a survival situation, you’ve got to thoroughly consider what might be useful. There are no stores to run to, and having things like shelter, food, and fire, is no joke.”

  “Speaking of shelter and food, how long will it be until the boats come back?”

  “As soon as the storm lets up, I’m sure. It is the dry season. Little outbursts like this typically don’t last too long.”

  “Little outburst?”

  “For the Everglades, yes, this is a little outburst.”

  She went wide-eyed at that, but said nothing. Her imagination was busy with what a storm must be like during the wet season.

  He interrupted her thoughts. “Did you eat enough marshmallows at the campsite or are you hungry?”

  “I’m okay for now. If we get hungry, there’s a ton of stuff growing out here. Can’t we eat any of it?”

  “The general rule to eating plants is not to do it. Ninety percent of them are toxic. It’s best not to experiment.”

  Her eyes grew big. “Then how are you going to last when the show tapes? I mean, assuming this mishap hasn’t soured you to doing the show.”

  “I’ll fish and trap animals. Just about all of them are safe when cooked. It might take a while for me to catch something right now because it’s raining real hard. But if you’re hungry, and willing to be patient, I’ll see what I can do for you.”

  “No, but thank you for offering. I wouldn’t do that to you. And anyway, I’m fine. Cold. Wet. Scared shitless. But fine. Really.”

  Colin laughed. “You sound fine. Other than the ‘shitless’ part, and your teeth chattering. If you’re not going to eat, I can at least suggest again you take your clothes off. Under the circumstances, I wouldn’t stand on formality. Keep your underwear on if it’ll make you feel better.” Colin balanced himself on his knees and started stripping. His tee shirt went first.

  The firelight danced off his hardened muscles, showing off both his strength and beauty. It was hard not to gape. She’d given credit to the wrong god. He wasn’t Vulcan. He was Adonis. Too bad for the television audience. She was the one lucky enough to view the whole show. Up close, live and personal. Silently she watched him spread each item of clothing out flat and near the fire. When all that was left was his cotton briefs, he raised a single eyebrow at her.

  “Are you daring me?” She laughed.

  “You know what we say in the military: ‘No guts, no glory.’”

  “Well, you’re certainly trying to enlist me, all right. But as a stripper or a Marine, I can’t tell.”

  “Either way, you’d be signing up for action.” He smiled and crossed his arms over his chest, obviously waiting for her next move.

  Chapter 9

  “It’s probably too warm a
nd humid out here for someone to get pneumonia, so if you decide to stay dressed, that’s okay with me,” Colin said, sounding unconcerned. “I do what I gotta do to deal with a situation. If staying soggy is your way of dealing, then, hey, I’m fine with that.”

  The problem was, was she fine with that? She had to wonder why she had even thought to put on her red lace thong—when planning to hike through the Everglades—in a million-degree heat. It was about as practical and comfortable as the matching piece she’d also put on—a low-cut, red-lace Victoria’s Secret push-up bra. Well, maybe she did have some idea why she chose the lace Victoria’s Secret instead of cotton Jockey-For-Hers. Actually, very solid reason, if she were being honest with herself. She had hoped, no matter how improbable, that somehow they would manage to spend a night out here.

  Part of her didn’t want to go through being shot down. She couldn’t bear the trauma of that a second time in her life. But a bigger part of her just wanted to make this happen. And it could. Tonight was now possible. Wasn’t it? After all, they had probably slept together last night anyway. Maybe this time she’d remember it. Her eyes flickered to his torso. Yep. She’d remember okay. It was hard to believe she’d manage to drink enough to have forgotten.

  “I would strip off,” she said softly, “but I can’t get up on my feet.” She straightened out a leg and showed him her chopped up sole.

  He grimaced at the sight. “That looks painful. Want me to help you?”

  “Help me strip? I don’t think that’s necessary.”

  He smirked. “I meant help you with your feet. I have an antibacterial cream I always keep with me. Cuts out here can be deadly.”

  Very gingerly she straightened out her other leg, offering him both feet. “Thanks. That’s very kind.”

  “No problem. Safety first, I always say.”

  “What are you going to do out here when you don’t have the antibiotic cream? You’re not supposed to bring anything other than a knife and a flare gun when the show tapes.”

  “Use peat moss. I’m going to gather some up as soon as they dump me back here. It’s been used since ancient times. It stops bacteria from growing.” He picked up a dirty, bloody foot and inspected it. “Got to clean these off, first,” he said, frowning, “No point putting medicine over dirt.” He tore some of the hanging leaves off the roof of the lean-to and gently rubbed them over her. Then he got a tube out of his backpack and rubbed the cream over her feet in slow moving circles. When he was done, he dabbed on some Vaseline. “To lock out the dirt,” he explained.

  She felt herself warming up, but from the heat of him, not the fire. She closed her eyes, leaned back on her elbows, and tilted her head back. The rain, having cooled things down, finally cleared out the humid air, letting her breathe. She inhaled the smell of smoke mixed with the smell of the earthy, wet peat moss. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “You’re quite welcome.”

  “You’ve rescued a damsel-in-distress.”

  “Funny, you don’t seem the helpless damsel type,” he said, and appraising her coolly, he stopped his foot massage and picked up the tube and Vaseline jar to chuck back in the bag. “I think you go after exactly what you want.”

  Her feet still tingled from his touch. The healing warmth, almost seductive, was mixed with the sharp stings of the cuts. And the sharper sting of his verbal jab.

  “You’re referring to last night. Because I came on to you.”

  “No.”

  She saw his back stiffen. “Yes, you are. Look, I apologize for that. Okay?”

  “Hey, take it easy. What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

  The oddness of having the British expression said with a light Southern drawl managed to distract her from her anger. “Knickers? Perfect word choice if you’re going to fly the Union Jack over our lean-to.”

  He laughed hard. “Why yes, I’m a Brit,” he replied, deliberately enhancing his Southern accent until it was quite thick. “In fact, I’m Bond. James Bond.”

  She wasn’t going to laugh, damn it. The best response he was going to get from her was an arched eyebrow.

  “Seriously, Stephanie, I spent quite some time in England during one of my missions. Some Brit expressions stuck with me, I guess. I didn’t even realize I just used one.”

  “So you’re not James Bond, but you’ve worked with him. Do I have that right?” she asked deadpan.

  “Nope. I only work with Teleworld apparently. Even through hostile storms and more hostile people. Like yourself, for instance.”

  She could tell there was a serious undercurrent to his sarcasm. “I’m not hostile, I just feel awkward about last night, okay?”

  “Awkward? I liked that you came on to me. I was hoping it’d stay that way.”

  “You mean you like the fact I slept with you.”

  He shook his head. “Nope. It wasn’t in the cards, unfortunately. True, you got stinking drunk, but all that happened afterwards was that I took you to your room and left you to sleep. Alone.”

  “Oh, thank God!” she exclaimed with relief. Then she saw his eyes narrow into little slits. “No, that’s not what I meant! You’re a great guy—”

  “But not great enough for you. I get it.”

  “No. I meant to say, well, I wouldn’t have wanted it to have been that way between us. Me being drunk and all.” She felt heat bloom over her face and knew her cheeks were bright red. “Sorry, I didn’t even mean to suggest you were still interested in me like that. I know this afternoon’s kiss was a simple mistake.” Embarrassed and insecure. Very attractive traits, Steph.

  “A mistake? Because you’re too much of a fancy city slicker for me?”

  “No. I didn’t say that. I don’t believe that either.” It’s just that I’m not attractive enough, apparently, since men don’t stick around. “Anyway, I’m not as fancy as you might think.” She sighed. “Don’t let the fancy job fool you.”

  “I wasn’t just talking about the job. But yes, your job would fit the bill, wouldn’t it?”

  “I like my job. It’s fun to create.” Her stomach felt bunched up, belying her nervousness to say more. Was it worth it to open up? Expose herself to being hurt on a deeply personal level. “But my job is not my whole heart and soul,” she confessed.

  “Okay, what is?”

  Stephanie looked away. If she were blushing, better he not see it. Better not to talk about this topic, either. “Never mind,” she said, words rushing out. “You’d probably find it stupid. I’m going to take some of these clothes off.” They sat in silence while she peeled down to her underwear. Being in a thong, her bare butt cheeks touched the aluminum floor. She should be mortified, but given the situation, and how he sat nonplussed in his quasi-nakedness, it somehow seemed okay. Besides, he’d put her to bed yesterday, so some intimacy had already happened. Even if inadvertently.

  If ever she felt empowered to take a risk, it was tonight. But a risk it was. Opening up to him, both mentally and physically, opened herself up to rejection. Her inner self was as in much turmoil as the storm outside.

  She sat down, knees up, feet on the floor, and dared a quick glance over her shoulder at his expression. He was starting intently at her, but at her face, not lower down as she expected.

  “I promise I won’t find it stupid,” he said, voice serious. Stephanie let the silence between them linger, hearing only the sloshing of the rain through the branches above them and the far off screech of birds. “Talk, Stephanie.”

  “I want to write novels.”

  “What’s so crazy about that?”

  “Women’s fiction.”

  “Okay. I’m still waiting for the crazy part.”

  “They’re romance novels.”

  He let out a deep laugh. “You’re a romantic at heart, eh? I wouldn’t have had you pegged. Not
after the way you rejected me.” He dropped his voice to a seductive tone, curling each word, “Unless of course, you do think I’m your type after all.”

  “I believe in romance,” she retorted, ignoring his come-on.

  “You dream up knights-in-shining-armor?”

  “No, I write contemporary romance. Not historical.”

  “Okay, you dream up businessmen in limos whisking away their women.”

  “You’re thinking of either Pretty Woman or Fifty Shades.” She laughed. “No, I don’t write that stuff either. Actually, I’m not sure what I write anymore. I haven’t tried in a while.”

  “Why not?”

  Again, Stephanie was silent. There was so much to say about her writer’s block, and yet, not much to say about it at all. What should she tell him? The rather pathetic story of her life? That her fiancé, no, make that ex-fiancé, had cheated on her. With her cousin. Make that her twenty-year-old cousin. Who seemed to be enjoying a much better sex life with her ex than Stephanie had ever had with him. Who knew he was capable of more than just “vanilla” sex?

  Maybe, Stephanie thought bitterly, she just couldn’t inspire passionate love in a man. It’s not like she’d know. She had only ever slept with Freddie. Freddie obviously thought she was sexually boring. Maybe all men would find her so. Funny, she didn’t think she had been all that bad. And it wasn’t right to simply blame the student. Some of the fault had to lie with the teacher, right?

  Regardless, it was too sad to think about, let alone tell Colin. How would a story like that inspire love in anyone? If books today had morals, what would hers be, “Don’t trust people with your heart?” Definitely not a bestseller. Even she didn’t want to be stuck with a story like that. But here she was, living it. Unconsciously she started unraveling what was left of her braid. She spread her fingers through it and then pulled back all her hair, smoothing it into a ponytail as best she could with one of the soggy elastics he had given her.